My new urban life.

In DC I could've opted to live downtown, in an old rowhouse somewhere in Cap Hill or GTown or perhaps DuPont. But I lived in Northern VA which had a nice little city feel to it what w/ the highrises and Metro stops and buses and walk-ability. But, it wasn't really urban, at the end of the day. The population was solid yuppy, there was a very low amount of crazy, it was...clean. I could've lived in downtown LA, but, then again, why would you ever do that. So pretty much, SF is my first real stab at living as a true urbanite. And I'm gradually questioning if I'm really cut out for it.

So I have to take the bus right? Our strategy is public transportation on the way there, cab on the way back (for evening events) or walk the way there, cab home (for daytime walking excursions). I've been using the bus for a total of like 4 days and so far I've:
--Gotten kicked off because b/t the two of us we had $20s and $2, not $3. The driver said get off the bus and get change. Then he left.
--Missed the bus. Twice.
--Gotten stared down b/c I couldn't get the machine to take my dollars.
--Sat in a puddle of some sort of liquid. I bet it was pee.
So it's basically a delightful exploration period.

I have also learned, via the bus, that SF does indeed have a very unique sense of style. It involves piercing and tatooing as much of one's body as possible and cutting hair and washing as little as possible. The result is simply stunning. I am curious if I've yet contracted scabies or maybe lice from the delightful human specimans I get to sit next to on the bus. On the plus side, due to my impeccable grooming skills, I receive compliments on my appearance every block or so. Then again, the extremely high amount of crazy in this city probably contributes to that as well.

I am also learning that living in an old house, even in one that has been fully remodeled, still means you live in, an old house. I have long wanted to live in a place with hardwood floors and period architectural details, you know, character. When you add modern conveniences to character, you get:
--A washing machine that moves 10+ feet across the floor and threatens to bash in your windshield. When bolted down w/ 4x4s it still hops insistently. Then it locks your clothes in inside itself until it's replaced. With another washer that hops across the floor.
--A garage that is supposed to fit 4 cars but can safely accommodate 3. Not even Danica Patrick could park a Honda Civic in our hole of a garage.
--A dishwasher that doesn't actually incorporate water into the process.
--Electrical wiring that shorts out 3 times in one hairdrying session (no other appliances involved).
--A kitchen that has no ventilation and thus steams up like the Amazon after a single pot of water is boiled.
--No phone jack. Because it was covered over during remodel.
But...what can I say: "she's pretty!!"

Anyway, now that I've unleashed a little bitterness, I'm feeling better. I'm going to go outside and enjoy the sunshine. Oh, that's right, I CAN'T! I forgot. We get no sun here. My bad.

No, seriously now. I do like this city. I am having much fun exploring, and now that our washer, and dishwasher have been fixed up I'm pretty happy w/ the apt which is actually 100% beautiful. And Stu and I have been playing house and pretty much acting like an old married couple or a parent/child duo (depending on the day), enjoying the last of our freedom. So, I'm adjusting. Just enjoying lots of Sweet 16 episodes (which I may or may not own) and adjusting. Until my next appliance breaks down... ta-ta.

4:43am and the room is shaking

So in case you haven't yet heard, I've lived through my first earth quake. Here is my anecdotal version:

I'm in bed. (My curtains and duvet cover have come, pictures are hung, so my dream room is nearly complete; just awaiting arrival of the rug and lamp.) I'm having the weirdest dream. I'm not really in it - it's a movie or tv show at the very beginning and the set-up is visually a bunch of newspaper clippings with a narrator saying: "Mona McDuffy [no, I don't know a Mona McDuffy] would've been my mother's best friend. But she married an idiot." Come on, you can't make this shit up. That's really what was being said.

This weirdness gets interrupted when I jolt awake, cuz I swear that my room is shaking. It's slight, but it's rattly, and I'm like, this is totally an earthquake. I've been living in this city for a matter of days and have already gotten 3+ lectures from Jane on assembling my "earth quake preparedness kit" and taken them not to heart, and I just got woken up, by an earth quake.

My window faces another building, and while I'm lying in the dark taking this in, I see a light snap on on an upstairs window across the way. She felt it too!

I grab my phone. It's 4:43am. I text myself so I remember this and don't chalk it up to a dream and then go back to bedsies.

I woke up around 10 this morning and I run into the kitchen and I'm all "Stu! Did you feel the earth quake last night?? I swear we had an earth quake! 4:43am!! I felt it!!" It was like Christmas. Umm, we used to have Xmas when I was a little kid cuz Jane was born a goyem. Anyway, so I googled "July 20 San Francisco earth quake" and sure enough headlines pulled. Surprisingly Jane hadn't yet called, but I called to tell the exciting news (I love how this potentially life-threatening event was like a virtual present to me), guess she'd assumed I was ok since I hadn't yet called.

Anyway, so, yeah. First earth quake! Nothing even moved out of place, btw. Not even little tiny trinkets on my dresser. Nope. It just shook me awake. Well then, safe and sound I am, and ready to go do stuff. Ciao ciao.

Holding hands is for boyfriends and other important thoughts.

Let’s talk about Kevin. Kevin was on the plane with me from Indy to Phoenix (oh? My direct flight? Not so direct. Stopped not once but twice. Hence why I left at 3pm East coast time and got home at 7pm West coast. ) So anyway. I sat in the window, and the woman on the isle had a little girl in her lap that I assumed would take the middle seat. Then very close to take off Kevin, who I think weighed in the neighborhood of 250, comes and takes the middle. I HATE sitting next to big people on the plane. I’m small! By airplane people standards I’m nearly tiny! I take up my seat and mine only. I don’t spill over and I don’t take kindly to spillover by others, all touching my arm and shit.

Plus the guy was a talker. On planes, I roll like this: I read my books, I listen to my iPod, I sleep. Only if you seem exceptionally cool or are exceptionally good looking and male do I want to talk to you. If you’re 250+, loud, obnoxious, and less than scholarly and by less than scholarly I mean that speaking proper English seems to be a challenge to you, I’m the little bitch that doesn’t want to listen to you blabber.

Kevin starts out the flight by squealing about he hates take off. “Can I hold your hand?” What the hell do you say to that?! No? I’m a bitch and I refuse to hold your hand? You clearly can’t do that. All you can do is hope he didn’t involve his palm when he last wiped his ass and take the plunge. When we reached cruising altitude he ordered number 1 of 4 double Jack and cokes. Which reeked. And thus he initiated conversation that I desperately wanted no part of. But I was cordial! You have to be when you know you’re spending the next 5 hours together.

I put my iPod on. That means I want to listen to my music, not talk about iPods with you. I start to read my book. That means I want to read my book, not discuss the title of the book and how you’re heading to Vegas for your mom’s vow renewal. I finish my book and attempt to sleep. THAT means that my eyes are shut and I’m about to drift into my subconscious, it isn’t a cue for you to reiterate information about myself that I’ve already told you. You don’t have to remember anything about me. Such as, “What’s your name again? Lindy?” It’s my eyes are fucking closed, you douche.

B/c he continuously jostles my arm and b/c his drinks smell so bad he then has to ask repeatedly if I’m alright. B/c I’m clearly not getting any sleep I return to awake mode long enough for him to tell me that I have beautiful eyes before full on staring at me and telling me that I’m beautiful.

At this point he’s not only irritating, but slightly creepy since I know his wife is on the plane rows behind us and b/c he’s told me all about his daughter. (If you want to know, she’s 18. She has a tiny waist but huge hips and a big old ass. But no stomach. She wore short shorts once. Kevin told her she couldn’t be wearing those unless she lost some weight. This was a most awesome conversation).

So I go to sleep again. After I do successfully fall asleep, I’m woken up by Kevin nudging me. He hands me a card with his name, address and phone number and asks me if I’d mind sending him a note b/c he’d love to come visit San Fran and he’d love to see me. I asked if he had email (no) so I guess I’ll just be sending that post card. I’ll be sending it tomorrow I’m sure. If not tomorrow, then the next day. If not the next day, then never. And I’ll be washing my hair for the next 48 hours so I guess that post card won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

I can give you his address though if you’d like to drop him a note.

He asked again when takeover prep started if I’d hold his hand. He asked about 15 min in advance of actual touch-down which meant my delicate phalanges (is that the word?) got to be held in his sweaty vice grip for 15 min longer than I ever wanted them there. When I get really angry or really irritated I kind of start to shake a little, kind of vibrate-like. I think that I was practically levitating by the time Kevin de-planed. Truly delightful flight.

Oh, hold on, I hear rustling outside and want to go see if a vagrant is sleeping on my doorstep. Be right back. Umm, no, no vagrant.

Anyway. So in other news, what happened when I was home? Aside from getting “little brown bear” tan of my childhood, purchasing several amazing pairs of shoes on sale from Saks (including completely ridiculous pink suede Prada platforms), taking advantage of Jane’s generosity in helping my furnish the new pad, hanging out w/ my childhood friends, ensuring that Greggy didn’t to share beds with his girlfriend, spending an evening with my relatives who some reason are all over the age of 70, eating yummy and delicious foods, drinking at least one glass of wine per night…Jack got a new left hip!

Yes. Jack got a total hip replacement in his left hip. Goldens can be prone to hip displaysia and little Jackie B, who Jane has taken to calling “Misty” (I call him Mister and then sometimes insist on calling him “Mistaaaaaaaa” in a rowdy little voice but then my mom took it a step further by calling him what is honestly a bad GIRL’S name from 1983), has it bad. So we took him to Ohio State Univ Vet Hosp and they fixed him right up. Dick and Jane have the fun task of keeping the dog, who now has great hips and the same puppy energy level he had pre-op, “quiet” and “still” for 3 months. Much luck.

Maybe I can send Kevin to visit and it’ll scare the hell and energy out of my dog into a point of non-movement for three months. I’ll ponder that. In the meantime, I think I’m going to take a shower and get into my new 450 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Ta-ta kiddos. Sayonara.

Indiana is very green, and I'm very tan.

Aside from the wholesome family values and warm, lovely personas, that you clearly need no evidence of beyond knowing me, produced here, I’d also to point to point out that the Midwest also produces the greenest, tree-iest summers you’ve ever seen. I’m looking out at our backyard, which is nearly 2 acres, something you would NEVER find in SoCal, or NorCal, for that matter, unless you’re a bajillionaire, and it’s like more green than I’ve seen since I guess the last time I was here. Amazing. It’s also 8pm and 90 degrees outside, still. Wow.

So I got home on Friday night. Greg was already in Canada – Dick left on Sat morning to meet him to go fishing. But as I said he was still home on Fri night. So after dinner my bf and her husband and fam came over for dessert. We were sitting all fresco and my phone was chilling on the patio table. I went in to grab some apple frangipan which is fancy-ass apple pie. When I came back out Dick was like, “Is there more than one Greg in your phone?” Yes. There are 2. Greg my friend and Greggy Cel, my brother. “Oh. I think I just called your friend Greg.” What did you say? “I told him that I was going to catch more fish than him. Than I realized it wasn’t Greg your brother. So, I hung up.” Awesome. You called my friend, babbled gibberish about competitive fishing, and then without explanation, hung up. Dad, your phone skills are wicked good.

Anyway. That’s about as exciting as my stories get around here.

Yesterday I rose around 11am, went to the country club, laid out for about 4 hours, and then swam laps. Came home. Cooked dinner w/ Jane. Walked Jack B (he has a new trick, btw – he can roll over on his back. Next up: peek-a-boo. No. I’m not kidding). Watched movie. Today: brunch w/ Aunt J. At the Marriot. I drove to a mall hotel to eat brunch. I could lie and pretend I’m not a total food snob and say it was good, but, like I said, that’d be lying, and I don’t like to lie. Went to pool. Laid out. Swam laps. Cooked dinner with Jane. Am about to watch a movie.

I am monitoring my blood pressure and other vitals around the clock as I’m afraid I might get too worked up over all the excitement in my life. Don’t worry though cuz so far everything is looking normal. But…I AM about to watch Hugh Grant’s “Music and Lyrics,” which could potentially be kinda dangerous. Who knows.

Anyway, on a side note, I am getting the tan that I used to have in my youth from spending every single day at the pool. That, I love. So, I may have left LA, but I’m not pale yet.

Airport Security: still sucking.

I just spent $0.54 on a single Ziplock bag. It’s $0.54, so it’s not a super big deal, but I think a box of like 30 Ziplocks costs maybe $2.50 so I have this sneaking suspicion that I just overpaid.

Having just moved here I kind of forgot that I wouldn’t be flying out of LAX this morning, which is very forgiving in terms of their liquid policy, in that they really don’t give a shit what liquids and how many/much you bring on. But this, is Oakland, and they have a myriad of signs posted warning you to bag it up. I have since cut back the number of lip glosses I carry in my bag, so it’s not the 12 or 13 that I think I was carrying last summer when this policy first came into being. Instead I have 5 glosses, 1 lipstick, and 2 chapsticks, in addition to a tube of hand cream.

SWest flies out of terminal 2 which is a trek from terminal 1. I went to term 2 and asked if they had any baggies. Nope – but they directed me back to terminal 1. I rolled up at the little security table expecting a free cheap-o plastic bag and was then directed to a store where I could buy one single, lonely little plastic bag for, yes, $0.54. So, I did.

Anyway, so I left our new house in only slight disarray, having taken about 20 boxes out to the trash dump area last night. An ungodly expensive trip to BB&B and many hours of arranging later, I kind of fit all my crap into my bedroom. I have piles of shoeboxes tucked into the closet, 2 8-hook bars on each door in my room holding about 20+ handbags, and an exposed metal rack holding clothes (like they use on like, movie sets, or at a fashion shoot, in other words, not typically in someone’s home I suspect) against one wall. It looks fairly uncluttered save for the clothes rack, but upon closer but still casual inspection it becomes quite obvious that mine is a room where the contents are in actuality far too great for the space holding them.

Oh let me tell you this one thing though. Our neighborhood is great. We have incredible access to any sort of smoking paraphernalia at any time of day (it’s the Haight, dude) that makes is almost ludicrous that none of us smoke, we have limitless restaurants, mad places selling clothes one wears when following Phish…and tucked in, many places selling stylish, overpriced great clothes and handbags that are a better fit with my own personal tastes. Such the perfect blend.

And one particular storefront that sells every sundry under the sun. The food and drinks are stacked on shelves and in coolers as expected. But the other more obscure items: power strips, wrenches, laundry bags, etc., are hanging on peg boars that soar 20 feet up the walls. The other night we were determined to watch our new tv and required an extension cord, so we walked to this particular shop. We scanned the peg board for one but my neck really doesn’t crane that effectively. We asked for help. They said they’d help…but never came. We went back and I asked again for help. “So did you find one?,” the guy asked. “Umm, I don’t know exactly. I think maybe, but it’s like 28 feet in the air…” -- “Oh, you can’t reach that high? Ha ha!” He then went back and started scrounging. He disappeared behind stacks of toilet paper packages and refrigerators. He emerged carrying 4 extension cords that he had apparently ripped out of his own sockets.

“These work for me, so should be fine for you!” He then tossed them into a bag and gave us, for free, like 60 feet of extension cord. How awesome is that? Totally makes it ok that I spent $0.54 on a single Ziplock.

That is just how nice people in SF are. I guess I’ll just fit right on it. Alright then, time to board…home to IN…for TWO weeks…I go.

Greetings from the 1-3-7

Totally writing from my new house. Sitting on the floor as we have no furniture. It's funny. B/c in LA I was sleeping on the couch b/c I had no bed. But at least we had a couch I could sit on when we watched tv. Here, I'm sleeping in a bed (Eliz's), b/c there is no couch to sleep on. Or a tv to watch. Or, tables to eat off of. So that's kind of conundrum-ish right? But I guess that tomorrow our furniture is arriving so this is allllllll about to change.

It's also conundrum-ish, I might add, that our movers are coming on the 4th of July. It's like the birthday of America. And yet, no break for those moving men. If I were them, I'd revolt. But then again, I revolt frequently, at least frequently enough to develop nemeses, that's plural for nemesis, but actually I don't really have multiple, just one, recently developed - I just wanted to use the plural form as it's kind of more fun in ways I can't explain. BTW, if you're reading this there's an estimated 25-30% chance that you've heard about this development of my, I'll say it one more time, nemesis. I'll spare rehashing the story for the 83rd time (yes, I'm pretty much telling everyone simply b/c I can and b/c I want to), I just pretty much wanted to sneak in the fact that I have a nemesis somewhere on this blog.

So my apt is pretty much amazing. It's rather empty and barren right now save for Eliz's room as she's lived here a couple weeks, but that's soon to change. It's huge, and it's beautiful, and it's on the cutest little street ever. I'm in love with it and can't wait to start decorating.

As for the ride up here, it blew. Nothing but hot, barren, creepy desert and mountains that reminded me of The Hills Have Eyes. I was waiting for my car to break down and for mutant things to come out and try to eat my face. Or something. Not really. It was the middle of the day, but what harm does a little drama do? Thanks to those who entertained me via the Cingular/AT&T network. It kept me alive. Literally. I have like a 5 hour tolerance for driving alone and then I start to fall asleep and I had to go over 6 hours.

It would've been right at six hours except I got lost when I got into the city. This city is a rotten
mess down in the Southeast area. The streets don't damn connect or go through and you can't make left turns when you need to or right turns when you need to and it's all damn hills. Huge hills. Huge frightening hills. Do you know what I had to do? Call some kid that is friends w/ Eliz that I don't know and have him navigate me via his GPS system. Wow. I have this sinking feeling that I'm liable to get lost at least 103 more times in the next several months alone, and kids, I have a two year lease so I'm locked into this city for at least that long.

Anyhoo...so that is that. I just had to write from new locale. And, for the record, haters, it's like so not cold here. This evening weather is just slightly below LA's evening weather, and it was marvelously sunny when I drove in this evening. So, HA! I win.

I'm just looking at my pictures and wondering if it gets any classier

BSchool wedding number three last night. I’d like to extend a warm welcome to Clif and Wai Mei for selecting such excellent timing for their wedding as it made for a most wonderful au revoir celebration for all. Of course, I’m sure that this was the number one criteria for selecting a wedding date.

I think there would be several other thank yous in order from our friends to the couple:

--Jen Y would like to say thanks for the cute little place card holder deals. She was fortunately able to collect all 12. Congratulations.

--Sauj would probably give a hearty thanks for the lottery ticket as she won either another lottery ticket, or $23. Either way she won, so it’s a good deal. Then she snuck out the back door to go do some stuff with some people some where.

--Nate says thanks for the wine. He chugged, in all, I’d estimate somewhere b/t 37 and 42 glasses.

--SV says thanks a lot too. Not at all sarcastically.

--Me, personally, I say thank you for the In and Out burgers served late night. There is nothing like spending a day at the beach in a new bikini after eating a steak in addition to 2 entire In and Outs.

I’d like to say that my favorite part of weddings is the beautiful union, or the fact that you get to chill for hours with your friends. Maybe the dancing. Perhaps the open bar. Unfortunately, I frequently side with the food. The ceremony last night, which overlooked the ocean and was virtually perfect, was awesome. But my thoughts were mostly focused on the post-ceremony, pre-dinner hour that is dominated by cocktail foods. After several rounds of the best hors d’oeuvres bypassed us (including the mini crab cakes and lobster tacos), we strategically positioned ourselves at the front of the stairs so the waiters would have to pass us first. This only backfired when the waiters began to bypass us. Not joking. They seriously carried the tuna tartars through the bushes to avoid the likes of us.

It was ok in the end. We turned to conversation as entertainment as Tracy enlightened us with tales of weddings where bathmats mark the altar and a lone buck of KFC supports the reception.

At the evening’s end a bunch of us had a big old fashioned sleepover party at Ritu’s apt. There was drawing on people’s faces and I believe some puking, which clearly demonstrates maturity. Stu and I were delighted when the slumber party ended around 7:30am with the arrival of Ritu’s movers. Darling, thank you for the heads up. Kidding. Anything that gets me off of my couch and into a bed works for me.

Unfortunately, I think that I’m on the couch once again tonight. It’s ok though, I’m at least going to bed really, really tan thanks to beach day w/ the Veeve in Malibu today, which is more than I can say I’ll be doing when I go to bed in an actual bed in SF as a pasty little hippie chick. Just kidding. I’ll never turn hippie.

Anyway, I love weddings!!!!

Clif and Wai Mei: congrats J